Everything's Gonna Be Fine
by Talath Amanya
Summary: All the times that Bruce took care of the team, and the one time they took care of him. Featuring the whole team except for Thor. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1 - Natasha

_I do not own any of the MARVEL characters or places, I simply write about them._

_Special thanks to my dedicated beta, _squirrellnut_! My very own personal thesaurus._

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><p>Chapter One: Natasha<p>

An explosion rocked the aircraft as it swung down over New York city, and the assembled Avengers inside clung onto hand straps, swaying with the careening ship and steeling themselves for battle. Clenching his fists, Bruce bowed his head and gritted his teeth while Natasha grimly checked her guns. Tony flipped his visor down and started to say something, but his words were immediately lost in the sound of yet another explosion. The ship pitched to one side and started losing altitude rapidly as smoke billowed from its cursed harshly from the pilot's seat as alarms blared and red lights flashed at him. Yelling over the din, his voice was strained and, although he denied it stoutly later, slightly panicked.

"They hit an engine! It's gonna blow any second!" Making a quick decision, Clint whacked on the autopilot, grabbed his bow, and scrambled out of his seat to join the others already bailing out of the craft. Thor jumped out of the hatch first, followed closely by Steve, then Tony and Clint. The ship rocked and dipped to the side again, throwing both Bruce and Natasha away from the exit hatch. Alarms and lights screaming around him, Bruce finally lost it, roaring as his skin flushed green and his shirt ripped into tatters. Showing uncharacteristic thoughtfulness the Hulk grabbed Natasha before jumping out after the others, just as their aircraft exploded into a thousand pieces behind him. Tucking the red haired assassin to his chest, he curled in on himself, preparing for contact with the rapidly approaching ground. Smashing through the concrete roof of an office building, the last thing Hulk remembered was something inside his animalistic heart feeling fiercely protective of the person clutched closely to himself.

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><p>Fighting the fogginess that blanketed his mind, Bruce found himself slowly waking to the sound of distant explosions. Groaning, he placed a hand to his head in a futile attempt to abate the usual post-Hulk headache. Sitting up, he thanked God that his pants were still in fairly good shape and glanced about in an attempt to get his bearings, a vague feeling of having forgotten something very important nagging at his consciousness. He practically kicked himself when his addled brain finally remembered what had happened, and the scientist sprang to his feet, searching his surroundings and calling his teammate by name.<p>

"Natasha! Where are you? Can you-" his sentence was cut off as a splash of red against slate grey caught his eye to the left, and scrambling over the rubble the scientist stumbled towards the woman lying motionless on the broken pavement. Turning her onto her back, Bruce breathed a sigh of relief at the steady rise and fall of her chest, but a worried look creased his brow at the sight of blood flowing sluggishly from a gash on his friend's forehead.

"Hey, Natasha. Hey, can you hear me?" Tapping the assassin's face gently, he checked for her pulse and was reassured by a steady throb. Thinking quickly, Bruce ripped a strip of cloth from his already decimated clothing and brushed off some dirt before pressing the material gently to the bleeding wound on the woman's head. Natasha groaned under his ministrations and her eyelids started to flutter.

"Wha-" She frowned at the sound of her gravelly voice while Bruce's concerned face slid in and out of focus.

"Hey. How you feeling?" Smiling wanly, he helped the woman sit up, noting her dilated pupils that indicated a possible concussion and so kept a cautionary hand braced on her upper back in case she fell. Natasha cleared her dry throat painfully and let out a rueful laugh that was more of a wheeze than anything else, and accepted Bruce's offer to help her up.

"Like Mjölnir hit me on the head," came the answer. Rising to her full height, Natasha's vision swam as all the blood rushed from her head and she clutched Bruce's arm tightly in order to keep her balance. Her head was pounding, and it took a little while to get her concerned teammate's face back into focus again. He was saying something but it all sounded fuzzy to her and she scrunched up her face in confusion. Her eyes felt heavy all of a sudden, and as they slipped closed she would've fallen heavily to the ground again if Bruce hadn't caught her.

"-tasha-"

"-ook at me."

"Natasha!"

The note of panic in her friend's voice snapped Natasha out of her drowsy state. Bruce never raised his voice like that. Something was wrong, and she suddenly grew frustrated at her muzzy mind that wouldn't give her any answers. Mumbling softly, she shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

"I-I'm alright."

Forcing her eyes open, her mind slowly registered the fact that Bruce was practically carrying her, and she blushed slightly, attempting to support her own weight on still-shaky legs before realizing that he was nearly carrying her for a reason.

"Whoa, whoa! Careful." Her knees buckled beneath her again, and this time Bruce took the liberty of lifting her up in his arms even as Natasha blushed furiously in embarrassment.

"B-Bruce, put me down. I'm fine."

"Haha, actually, you're not." He carried her carefully over the mounds of rubble before finally setting her on her feet when she declared that she would kill him in his sleep if he didn't do so instantly.

"Alright, alright," he conceded, but still kept a close eye on her, an ever-ready hand constantly hovering behind her back. The assassin wordlessly placed a shaking hand on Bruce's forearm, tightening it into an all-out death grip whenever the waves of nausea swelled up in the pit of her stomach. The solitary duo continued to pick their slow way out of the demolished building, and soon stumbled upon the rest of the Avengers, who immediately ran up to them.

"Bruce! Natasha! Are you guys alright? What happened?" Steve, ever the worrisome leader, jogged up to the pair and carefully scanned them for injuries, open concern in his eyes. Natasha cleared her throat and lessened the pressure on Bruce's arm, placing the indifferent mask of a S.H.I.E.L.D agent on her face, hiding the pain and vulnerability that had been plain just moments before. Clint strolled up, Bruce's spare glasses dangling carelessly from his fingers, but the keen anxiety in his eyes belied his apparent indifference. Natasha smirked at the expense of her worried partner, and walked slowly over to him, whispering an affectionate "Moron" into his ear before sharing a small smile with Bruce, who winked almost imperceptibly at her.

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><p><em>There you go! This is only chapter one, and I plan to do the rest of the Avengers, (excluding Thor- he's so hard to write) and possibly Pepper. Hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know your thoughts in a review!<em>


	2. Chapter 2 - Steve

**A/N**_ - So sorry for the late update guys! Almost two weeks! Whoops… Summer vacation has crashed upon my life, bringing with it many people and lots of activities, so it has been rather difficult to find time to write. But here it is at last, and I hope you enjoy it!_

_I do not own any of the MARVEL characters or places, I simply write about them._

_Many thanks to my dedicated beta, _**squirrellnut**_, and for sacrificing much of her time for this story and for me._

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><p>Chapter Two: Steve<p>

"Alright kids, this is where the going gets tough," stated Tony Stark as he nonchalantly waved his million dollar skis around his head, very nearly decapitating several of his teammates.

"What was this run called again?" Clint peered skeptically down the steep slope. Natasha smirked and slapped the archer heftily on his back, making him squawk and grapple for a hold of her jacket. Scowling at the two agents, Steve also looked down the unnaturally long ski run, sincerely doubting that he would enjoy his trip down. Shaking his head in resignation, he shared a look with Bruce and grimly vowed to himself never to accept an invitation to go skiing with Tony ever again. This could not end well.

"What's wrong, Birdie? Afraid of flying the coop?" Tony jabbed Clint in the side, almost sending him tumbling down the hill. Disentangling himself from Natasha, the agent sniffed in disdain and turned away, feigning indifference.

"Maybe I just value my life more than you do, Iron Pants."

Tony rolled his eyes, and then leaned close to the group, lowering his voice theatrically.

"They say that at one point a man was skiing here and half way down the hill he was attacked by fifteen bears and eaten. They later found his mangled remains along with bloody paw prints leading away into the forest. And every night you can see the silhouette of a man and fifteen bears gliding down this very slope."

Clint's eyes were wide, and when Bruce patted his back reassuringly he jumped in surprise, swinging around and nearly punching the scientist in the jaw before he caught himself and smiled halfheartedly.

"Well! Off we go then. You go first, Clint ol' boy." Unceremoniously breaking the quiet atmosphere, Tony quickly shoved Clint down the hill, laughing heartily as he did so. Narrowing her eyes at the millionaire, Natasha sent him a withering look before taking off down the hill after her partner.

"Hah! Crazy woman. No sense of humor." Grumpily stabbing his ski poles into the snow, Tony swiftly shoved off, yelling back at the two remaining Avengers on the hill, "See you at the bottom! Don't stop for shawarma!"

As Tony rapidly disappeared into the oncoming mist, Bruce and Steve silently shared another look.

"Well. Doctor Banner?" Raising an eyebrow at the taciturn scientist, Steve couldn't help but dwell on the unattractive idea of skiing down the run so encouragingly nicknamed "Crossbone Hill".

"Those storm clouds don't look too good." Bruce gestured with his hand to a mass of menacing black clouds in the sky that appeared to be rapidly advancing towards them, swallowing up clusters of fluffy white clouds one by one and blocking out the brilliant sunshine that had seemed to promise a beautiful day just that morning. Squinting upwards, Steve 'hmmed' in agreement and shifted his skis, psychologically preparing himself for push off.

"Well, here I go." Tentatively pushing off, the super-soldier gathered speed, and glancing over at Bruce, grinned, and the scientist smiled back. Maybe this isn't so bad after all, Steve thought, as the sharp wind rushed past his face, carrying small bits of ice that struck his face like tiny grains of sand. Anyway, this felt a lot better than being stuck in a meeting with Nick Fury. The run seemed to go on forever, and the soldier recalled Tony's passing comment about "Crossbone Hill" being almost 20 minutes long. As Steve entered a small grove of trees the wind changed considerably, increasing from an exhilaratingly sharp breeze to icy cold gusts that swept up the snow into light flurries around him. The sunlight peeking through the treetops dimmed, and then faded altogether behind an ominous cloud. Surprised at the sudden change in the weather, Steve looked up quickly, warily gauging the dark sky, and noted the biting wind that howled in his ears.

All of a sudden he felt himself to be once again the single occupant of a burning, crashing ship, helpless to steer, and plunging to his death in the Arctic. Closing his eyes briefly he thrust the image out of his mind but Peggy's broken voice echoed in his heart, haunting him, calling to him. Without warning tears welled up in Steve's eyes and blurred his vision. In his desperate effort to wipe them away he veered sharply to the right, and losing his balance fell to the icy ground in a tangle of skis and poles, just barely missing a tree. But as his right ski caught on an unseen tree trunk it snapped in two, sending Steve rolling further down the descent only to slam into another tree and fall into darkness.

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><p>Steve felt cold. Not put-on-an-extra-sweater cold, but really, truly cold. Though his eyes were closed, everything felt white. The ground was hard beneath him, and he felt very–for lack of a better word–soggy. Yet oddly enough his mind registered his body as perfectly comfortable.<p>

A sudden shock ran through him at the unexpectedness of the strong gust of icy wind that blew over him, ruffling his damp hair. Bruce's concerned voice filtered through at last, and the soldier groaned and shifted, shivering in the midst of the storm.

"Steve!"

His eyelids fluttered, and tired eyes managed to slowly bring the scientist into focus. Squinting in the raw wind that blasted about him, Steve studied his whitened surroundings, trying to recall what had happened. Sitting up proved to be far more difficult than he had expected, and his head swam, throbbing in sync with the sudden stab of pain in his right leg. A look of anguish crossed his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a moan. A warm hand against his forehead, and another on his wrist prompted him to open his eyes with an immense effort, encountering Bruce's warm brown gaze.

"Hey there, Cap. How's your head?" The underlying tone of anxiousness in the older man's voice nagged at something in Steve, but he managed a small shrug in an attempt to assuage Bruce's obvious worry.

"Been better." Shivering again, the soldier wrapped his arms around himself, and tucked his chin into his chest in an effort to conserve warmth. The cold wind whipped about the solitary duo, and Steve shifted nearer his teammate. The two grown men laughed awkwardly before huddling even closer together, sitting side by side to keep warm. Bruce pulled his cellphone out and informed Steve that he'd already tried calling Tony but to no avail. Gazing dispiritedly at the near-zero reception display on the electronic screen, the scientist sighed. Steve closed his eyes, unconsciously curling into himself as far as his broken leg would allow as Bruce lightly slapped him on his cheek, telling him to stay awake.

"Hey Steve, don't fall asleep on me." Forcing his eyes half open, Steve complied while clenching his jaw to still his chattering teeth, almost physically feeling his lips turn blue.

"Mmm cold, Bruce." Mumbling his complaint to his friend, Steve's numbed mind wandered, far back through the dusty halls of his memory. Reality seemed to fade, and the coldness of his body seemed to recede. Warm memories of his happy family, and his mother's kind smile glowed radiantly in his mind. But before long the fuzzy images also began to dissipate, and Steve felt himself slowly succumbing to the darkness that persistently clawed at his consciousness. Bruce's sudden exclamation of happiness jerked the super-soldier out of his quiet state.

"I've got reception! Oh, baby Steve! This is great! Hey, Tony?" The scientist was practically shouting with joy next to the soldier as he dialed a number on his phone, and Steve flinched at the noise in his sensitive ears. He could hear Tony's voice on the other end of the call, but he really couldn't muster enough energy to feel happy about it. All he wanted to do was sleep…

"Hey Steve! Don't fall asleep! Uh, yeah he doesn't look too good Tony. You might want to hurry. Track my phone and you can find us. Hey, Steve! Look at me. Focus on my voice, and _don't fall asleep_." The minutes ticked by and Steve barely kept himself awake, mostly because Bruce kept slapping his face, gently at first, until he realized that the soldier was so cold he couldn't even feel the slaps any more. A few minutes stretched into seemingly hours for Steve, and his mind wandered towards the inviting relief of unconsciousness again. The snow and wind still howled with vehemence, and the piercing pain in his leg seemed to recede into a dull throb as the limb grew numb. Everything was quiet before Bruce suddenly perked up next to him after apparently hearing something, and jumped to his feet yelling Tony's name into the wind. The sound reverberated around Steve's throbbing head, and he groaned in complaint, instantly gaining the scientist's attention.

"Hey, Steve. It's gonna be alright kid. Tony's here. They found us." The super-soldier absentmindedly nodded his head, and let it fall to his chest again in exhaustion. His eyes slipped closed but then opened again when he heard another familiar voice calling him.

"Hey Capsicle! How you feeling, big guy?" Tony's cheery voice was a welcome sound, but Steve instead shivered and coughed in answer.

"C-cold. And d-don't call me ca-capsicle." The billionaire shared a concerned glance with Bruce, and before Steve realized what was happening, the two other men had him on his feet and supported between the two of them. His leg made a painful objection to the sudden movement, and the soldier groaned in pain. Tony's armor was cold and hard against his shivering body, and thats when he realized that Bruce was also shivering violently too. Steve wanted so badly to ask if the scientist was alright, but his tongue felt thick, and his eyes slid closed of their own accord. Tony's voice took on a stronger sense of urgency.

"Let's get you two out of here- Oh! Look, the cavalry have arrived."

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day Steve forced his eyes open again, and was relieved to see Clint and Natasha jogging towards them through the receding fog, closely followed by several S.H.I.E.L.D. medicals. Steve shrugged off Tony and Bruce's support, and in a sudden spurt of energy stood on his own two feet. Foot. The super-soldier showed his two agent friends his best, cheerful smile that deteriorated into an uncontrollable shiver in the wind. Someone tossed a large thermal blanket over his broad shoulders, and Steve drank in the warmth it offered to his nearly frozen body. The steady throb of his heart pulsed through his body, and his vision suddenly grew dark around the edges as a blood rush threatened to overwhelm him. Losing his balance, he nearly dropped to the ground but was saved by eight hands belonging to four very concerned Avengers.

"Whoa there, Spangles. Hey, would somebody get Bruce a blanket too? He's shivering like a sheared sheep." Bruce's injured dignity protested at Tony's degrading comparison, but he gratefully accepted a blanket from another agent even as Clint and Natasha helped Steve towards the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D. ship. Directing Bruce in the same direction, Tony placed a casual arm around the scientist's shoulder.

Steve felt drowsy as Natasha murmured nonsensical comforts into his ear, and Clint kept a supportive hand on his back. Stepping into the quinjet, the soldier was greeted by a wave of warmth that washed over him comfortingly. Tony was talking quietly with Bruce, and the billionaire sat the scientist down next to Steve, who was already wrapped in several more blankets, and drifting off against Clint's shoulder. As the ship gradually gained altitude, Bruce leaned over and whispered into Steve's ear.

"Hey hey, kid. Told you we'd make it." The two shared a smile, and Steve whispered back at the scientist before falling asleep

"I'm never going skiing again."

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><p><em>There you go kids! It turned out to be more team-centric rather than Steve-centric like I originally planned, but oh well! I still rather like it. I shall hopefully be updating again soon. Let me know your thoughts in a review!<em>


	3. Chapter 3 - Tony

**A/N** - _So sorry for the late update! Summer is busy and my beta (who also happens to be my sister) unfortunately didn't have any free time until just today! So sorry… but I hope you enjoy this anyway :)_

_I do not own any of the MARVEL characters or places, I simply write about them._

_Lots of thanks to my beta, _**squirrellnut**_, and all her hard work._

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><p>Chapter Three: Tony<p>

Tony–to put it lightly–was unwell. Yes, he was pretty sick. Was he going to tell anyone? No. Stiff Stark pride kept him from such a degrading action. Tony Stark never showed weakness and never asked for help.

So the multibillionaire dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the nightstand, bringing his face within six inches of his digital clock to peer at it with strained eyes.

After several minutes of quietly digesting the information that glowed six inches away from him, Tony plodded wearily to the bathroom, only to stare at himself in the mirror for another ten minutes. Halfheartedly slapping his face several times to wake himself up, Tony gazed at his reflection again, this time really seeing himself. His hair seemed to spike in all directions, and there were bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. His face lacked its usual healthy color, and opted this morning for a sickly white. As his stomach roiled and twisted, Tony ran to the bathroom but only dry heaved harshly into the toilet bowl. Slouching against the cool tiles of the wall, he slowly slid to the floor, relishing the feel of the cool ceramic against his hot skin. His mind seemed to slowly begin functioning again after the draining episode and he sat still to gather his strength. It was just enough to get him to his closet and change into clean clothes. Taking a sip from a cup of old water sitting on his dresser, Tony felt that his brain was regaining its usual sharpness. Shaking his head as though to clear it of cobwebs, he ran a comb through his unruly hair, washed his face, and then, pushing aside the weak feeling of sickness still persisting in his stomach, he marched out to meet the day.

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><p>Bruce–to put it honestly–was happy. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the kitchen was quiet. All was right with the world. With Natasha and Clint gone on some 'secret mission' for S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve tracking down a terrorist group in Bulgaria, and Thor still back at Asgard, Stark Tower was unusually quiet, but Bruce had no problem with that. Tony was apparently still sleeping- that would explain why the house was still so quiet<em>- <em>and Pepper had left earlier that morning to attend a meeting in Boston. So Bruce happily took over the kitchen, putting his slightly rusty cooking skills back into practice. The scientist fried up some scrambled eggs mixed with spinach and garlic, with some crispy bacon on the side and crunchy wholegrain toast for himself and Tony. Placing a plate over Tony's steaming platter to keep it warm, he brewed himself some coffee, quietly humming some tune he'd heard on the radio. Absently stirring his hot beverage, Bruce tapped the spoon several times on the rim of the mug, letting the utensil clatter onto the countertop as he tentatively raised his cup to his lips to taste it. Smiling in approval, he set the mug next to his steaming plate of hot breakfast. Rummaging about in the utensil drawer, he found his favorite fork and turned to sit down and finally eat the food that had been tempting his nose for the past five minutes.

"Uh...morning, Bruce."

Jumping slightly at the sound of another voice breaking the silence, Bruce restrained the hand that was halfway to his plate, and glanced up at Tony who stood framed in the doorway. The scientist smiled briefly at the billionaire, and then returned his attention to more important matters- namely, breakfast.

"Good morning, Tony. Get a good night's rest? Your breakfast is underneath that plate."

Taking his first bite of the eggs and toast, Bruce closed his eyes in silent appreciation, and didn't see Tony's face as it blanched at the smell of food. Turning away and discreetly covering his nose, Tony slowly walked to the sink to pour himself a cup of water.

"You alright?" At his friends voice, Iron Man turned away from the sink to face Bruce. The scientist had one eyebrow quirked and his mouth was full of food but he still managed to look slightly intimidating as his sharp gaze swept up and down Tony's rumpled appearance. Shuffling slightly, the said man muttered something about maybe some coffee doing him good, but made no move to carry out his apparent intentions. Something seemed off and Bruce narrowed his eyes at the billionaire, but attributed the man's strange actions and quiet behavior to disappointment at Pepper's absence.

Turning back to his rapidly cooling breakfast, the scientist mentally dismissed the man and turned to look at the morning paper left on the kitchen tabletop. Tony breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and after downing the water in one go, quickly turned on his heel to escape the awkward atmosphere of the room…..only to stagger slightly and clutch the countertop as his vision swam and blackness forced itself into the edge of his vision. His knuckles turned white as he held the edge of the table in a death grip, and he breathed in and out heavily. He heard Bruce's chair scrape harshly against the floor, and soon felt firm but gentle hands guiding him to a seat. Tony's stomach churned rebelliously, and the water that he had drunk not five minutes ago, ah, 'rose with the tide' shall we say, and the billionaire scrambled towards the sink. Long after his stomach was empty and his throat raspy, he went on painfully dry heaving for several minutes. Rubbing slow circles on the sick man's back, Bruce worriedly waited for the spasms to run their course, and as the coughs slowly subsided, Tony rested limply on the edge of the sink. Gently grasping the man's shoulders, Bruce led him to a chair again and sat him down. Quickly pouring another cup of water, he placed it in front Tony, and sat down in a chair next to him. Scanning the man's face, the scientist gauged just how sick he was–unruly hair, a thin sheen of sweat over his face, and bloodshot eyes were testimony enough.

"I'm not sick."

Tony broke the silence, his voice very small, and cracking towards the end of his short declaration. Bruce almost laughed, but contained himself and opted for a strongly skeptical expression.

"Ah, yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Already too tired to continue the useless argument, Tony just sighed in response, and laid his head on his arms, resigning himself to his fate. Laughing slightly under his breath, Bruce stood up, gesturing with his hands for Tony to do so as well. Glaring halfheartedly at the scientist, Tony merely shifted his head so he was looking away from his friend, mentally daring him to even attempt to move him. However, in his muddled state he must have forgotten how strong Bruce was and suddenly found himself standing on his feet and being propelled out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Hey hey hey! Where do you think you're taking me?"

"To your bed, old man."

"_Old man_-"

This time Bruce really did laugh at his indignantly sputtering companion. Tony was weakly flailing his arms, but the scientist held onto him pitilessly until they reached the billionaire's bedroom, where he gently deposited him on the bed.

Though Tony continued to complain and grouse even as Bruce fetched him some comfortable clothes, and some more water, he was rather glad that he was back in his comfortable bed, which he really had not wanted to leave in the first place. Grumbling good-naturedly as the scientist thrust out a pair of sweatpants at him, he was suddenly very glad that none of the other Avengers were here- they probably would have made a huge fuss out of everything. After changing into the clothes that Bruce had supplied, Tony picked up his iPad off of his desk in open rebellion against the idea that he was sick. His plan was quickly foiled, however, as Bruce snatched the tablet out of his hands.

"Go to bed."

"Wha- you're not my mother!"

"Yes I am. Now get some rest. You look terrible." Pushing the sick man back into bed, Bruce all but tucked him in, smiling serenely all the while. Tony turned onto his side, his back to the scientist, and silently glowered into his pillow. Turning off the light, Bruce quietly left the room as Tony fell asleep sooner than even he had expected.

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><p>Glancing up at the clock in the common room, Bruce was surprised to see that it was almost 2:30 P.M. already. Snapping his book shut, he dropped it onto the couch and got up to check on Tony.<p>

Quietly cracking the door open he peeked into the room, squinting in the dim light at the figure he knew was asleep on the bed. Tiptoeing inside, he softly approached the bed, turning on a muted lamp to see better. He was not expecting the sight that greeted him however, and immediately laid a hand on the fitfully sleeping billionaire's forehead. His face was flushed with fever while his breathing was erratic, and he mumbled incoherently from time to time. Inwardly blaming himself for not checking in earlier, Bruce quickly scrambled to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with cold water and lay it across Tony's forehead, attempting to lower the high fever that racked the man's body. As the cool cloth touched the billionaire's hot skin, the sleeping man awoke, his eyes half open and roaming around before settling on the face of his concerned friend above him.

"-ruce?" The low, raspy voice emerged from the pillows and blankets, and Bruce turned back to the bed.

"Hey, Tony. How're you feeling?" Grunting in response, Tony shifted in his bed and sat up, immediately regretting it as even such a small movement made his developing headache increase in strength. Gratefully accepting the cup of water that Bruce seemed to conjure out of nowhere, he took a sip, and relished the feel of the cold water running down his throat. His muddled mind didn't seem to communicate too well with the rest of his body, and his hand trembled as he held the cup, nearly spilling it onto the coverlet until Bruce leant over and placed his hand over Tony's, stilling it and helping him to drink. The billionaire sighed, and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the cool water slipped down his parched throat. Placing the cup back onto the nightstand, Bruce changed the washcloth again and helped Tony to lay back down- shushing him gently when he complained about being treated like a baby. Placing his hand on the billionaire's forehead, he chewed his lip in worry at the fever that still burned there. Tony leaned into the cool touch, and murmured something that the scientist couldn't quite make out. Shushing him again, Bruce briefly left to refill the cup of water, grabbing a few more washcloths on his way. Coming back into the room, he snagged a nearby chair and dragged it to Tony's bedside, preparing himself for a long afternoon, certain to be followed by an even longer night.

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><p><em>Tony wandered through a desert, plodding through miles and miles of dry, shifting sand. Throat parched and voice long gone from the scorching heat that glared down on him, baking him from head to toe, Tony could not recall how long he had been walking. His eyes burned with sand and his limbs ached with exhaustion, but the billionaire stumbled on through this living hell. After seemingly hours of walking past hundreds of sand dunes, Tony brought his head up to scan the horizon, a deep hopelessness settling in the pit of his stomach.<em>

_Suddenly something seemed to change in the air, and he blacked out for a moment, the scene around him having changed drastically when he reopened his eyes. Blinking in disbelief, the billionaire lethargically looked around, drinking in the beautiful sight of an oasis that seemed to have materialized around him. Dropping to his knees beside a small pool of clear, lifesaving water Tony splashed it on his face, cooling it instantly. Just as he reached down to drink some of the liquid, his surroundings changed again even as darkness tugged at his consciousness once more. _

_The trees around him disappeared into murky darkness, the ground beneath him growing soft- Tony slowly recognizing the feel of a bed beneath him. Blinking his eyes open, he looked hazily up at the familiar ceiling of his room, and his gaze roamed around until locking onto a familiar figure nearby._

"_-ruce?" _

_Bruce turned to him, smiled gently, and asked him how he felt. Tony meant to say 'I'm fine' but it sounded more like a grunt when it came out of his mouth. All of a sudden the billionaire felt very vulnerable, and sat up- only to bite back a groan at the flash of pain that stabbed in his head. Trying desperately to ignore his excruciating headache, he accepted the cup of water that Bruce offered him. He could hear Pepper's voice clearly in his head..._

"Water, Tony, cures everything."

"But _Pep_... I have a headache..."

"_Drink water_... and go to the bathroom."

"Oh _yes_, because drinking water, and going to the bathroom cures _everything_..."

_Tony almost chuckled at the memory but was distracted by the glorious feeling of the cold water cooling his parched throat. His hand wavered, and the billionaire found himself coloring in embarrassment as Bruce placed his hand over his own, stabilizing the cup and bringing it to his lips. After drinking his fill, Bruce removed the cup from Tony's hands, gently helping the man to lay back down on the bed. Tony muttered quiet complaints, but his friend shushed him, and placed a cool hand on his forehead. The fevered man leaned into the soothing touch, and voiced a nearly inaudible 'thank you' but Bruce apparently couldn't make it out. As Tony's eyes slipped closed again, he heard Bruce shushing him again, and he almost smiled but fell asleep first._

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><p>As early dawn sunlight filtered through the curtains of Tony's room, Bruce blinked and then shook himself awake from his short nap. Turning to the bed, he got up to place a tired hand on Tony's forehead for what was probably the twentieth time in the past 24 hours. This time however Bruce smiled- the fever had finally broken, leaving a peacefully sleeping Tony in its wake. Falling heavily back into his chair, the scientist rubbed a hand over his face, but then got up again to stretch his cramped muscles and crack his back. After making sure that Tony would be alright, he stepped out into the hall, and greeted JARVIS with a "good morning, yes, he seems better, could you please brew me twelve pots of coffee." After changing into clean clothes the scientist quickly made his way to the kitchen, very eager to eat his first meal in about 12 hours. Rummaging about, he espied his unfinished breakfast from the day before and placed it in the microwave, deciding to give it a second try. Fifteen minutes later found Bruce Banner quite full, very content, sipping from his <em>third <em>cup of coffee, and reading the newspaper once more. And that's how Tony found him when he wandered in a few minutes later, shuffling about wrapped up in a duvet. Bruce shot to his feet in surprise, nearly knocking over his chair.

"Tony! What are you doing out of bed!?"

Smiling lopsidedly, the billionaire advanced further into the room with a faltering step and dropped into a chair across from Bruce with a guilty look, eyeing his friend's coffee hungrily nonetheless. When the scientist placed a cup of water in front of him instead, Tony frowned.

"I want coffee, Brucie." The billionaire knew that he sounded like a petulant child, but who cared? If he got coffee it would be worth it. His puppy dog eyes had always worked on Pepper.

"No. You're not having any until you can prove that you won't upchuck that water." Bruce smirked, and sat down again, smugly drinking his coffee and watching in amusement the way his friend's eyes followed the mug's ascent from the table to the scientist's mouth. Glancing down at his cup of water, Tony gripped it and downed the fluid, gauging how his stomach would react. After several minutes of silence, and no reaction from his previously upset bowels, it was Tony's turn to smirk as Bruce grudgingly pushed his mug in the billionaire's direction. But as soon as the engineer took a sip, he regretted it intensely- his stomach churned at the acidic taste and threatened to reject it. Bravely swallowing down the nausea, Tony smiled tightly at his friend and took another sip, if only to prove a point. After a pregnant pause and a long scrutinization on Bruce's part, the scientist broke the silence.

"Very well, Tony, you may brew your _own_ cup of coffee, but don't say I didn't tell you." Bruce watched with amusement as Tony sprang up from his chair–a lot faster than the scientist would've expected–and gleefully placed fresh grounds into the coffeemaker. Several minutes later Tony dropped back into a seat, this time holding a scalding hot cup of coffee. Bringing his nose several inches away from his steaming cup, he smelt it appreciatively.

"_Coffee_, Pepper, cures everything." Smiling to himself, the billionaire sipped from his cup, and glancing over at his silent companion, saw a small smile on the scientist's face.

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><p><em>Well folks, there you go! I only have Clint left to do, and then the final chapter for Bruce but I still haven't decided about doing one for Pepper yet. So you can expect at least two, maybe three more chapters :) Hope you liked this one, and tell me what you thought in a review! <em>


	4. Chapter 4 - Clint

**A/N **- _Darn, almost 3 months! I sincerely apologize for the unfairly late update, but summer turned out to be quite busy, and with several short trips filling up the months following, along with resuming my homeschooling, my muse constantly drew a blank and I didn't have the time to write or update._

_I do not speak Russian, and Google translate was used for this story, so if anyone who does speak Russian notices any mistakes please point them out to me and I shall correct them immediately. _

_Chapter 5, starring Bruce, I hope will be up soon but I can make no promises. The possibility of a chapter for Pepper still stands but I am not sure. I'm really lacking in ideas so if you have a good one let me know in a review and I might be able to use it. :)_

_Onward!_

_I do not own any of the MARVEL characters or places, I simply write about them._

_Lots of thanks to my beta, _**squirrellnut**_ and all her valuable input in this story._

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><p>Chapter Four: Clint<p>

"Hawkeye to Black Widow. Target in sight. Over." The comm crackled as Natasha's affirmative response filled his ear.

"_Roger. Keep him in your sights. Cap and I are headed over now. Don't let him see you._ _Безопасность , ястреба__.__"_ _Stay safe, Hawk._

Clint smiled though Natasha couldn't see him.

"всегда." _Always._

Silence fell over the comm and Clint shifted the sniper rifle uneasily in his hands, strongly wishing he was holding his own trusty bow instead. But the whole team had agreed that for this mission stealth was the key, and a bow and arrow would be too conspicuous. His target stood nearly one hundred meters away from the archer's current perch, talking with several of his black-clad men out on an open balcony, four stories above ground. Rough tree bark scraped against Clint's bare arms as he changed position once more, and peering up into the leafy boughs above him, the agent took a moment to listen to the sound of the trees creaking silently in the gentle wind. Taking a quick moment to check on his target again, Clint moved his finger off its loose hold on the trigger and wiped his sweaty hand on his pants before returning it to the same position. A slight movement caught his attention. Squinting through the sighter, Clint watched as the black-clad men followed the target back inside the building through a small door, one of them cocking his gun and cautiously looking around before stepping through the door. Even as the door clicked shut Clint was up and moving from branch to branch with the rifle strapped to his back, contacting the rest of the team.

"Target has moved inside. I'll follow him. You and Cap there yet Nat?" Nimbly leaping from an outstretched limb, Clint jumped from one tree to the next, already about twenty meters closer and closing in fast.

"_We're getting there. Don't engage, Clint. This guy's got at least two dozen goons with him and we both know that they're not pretty." _Natasha's voice came over the comm a bit bitingly, and Clint got the impression that the assassin was annoyed about something. He smiled slightly. Natasha was always annoyed with _something_.

"_Widow, Cap, Banner's heading your way. I'll cover you, Barton."_ Tony's voice crackled in a small bout of static and Clint paused briefly as he thought he saw movement on his left, but as he stopped and cautiously looked through the thick branches he couldn't see anything. Though a nagging feeling was firmly settling itself in his stomach, Clint ignored it and passed it off as paranoia. Slowly picking up his pace again, Clint pressed a finger to the comm in his ear. Several seconds later movement caught his eye again, and this time the hairs on the back of the archer's neck stood up in warning.

"Guys, not sure if it's just me, but something feels off. Stark? You seeing that movement over there? To the right on the roof of that grey building. With the red brick edging." Gnawing his lip slightly, Clint leaned back against the rough bark of the tree he was balancing on and took a deep breath. Smoothly pulling the sniper rifle from his back, the agent waited. Stark's voice finally filtered through the comm.

"_I don't see anything, Barton. You sure there was something? Your eyes could be playing tricks."_

"Don't insult me, Stark. My eyes never play tricks on me." Clint's tone was irritated.

"_Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a bunch, granny. Just asking."_ The archer heard Tony's repulsers faintly off to the left of his perch. Turning his head in that direction he scanned the sky briefly before sighting the familiar red and gold of the Iron Man suit high up against the white clouds. The faraway figure spun a fancy loop before swooping down about a block away from Clint's location.

_Show off,_ Clint scowled, moving forward to launch himself across an open space with a dizzyingly high drop to the ground. A second later his combat boots landed firmly on a solid oak branch. Bracing his gloved hands on the rough bark the archer pushed off and continued to move nimbly through the gently rustling leaves of the tree.

Bruce's deep voice suddenly thrummed in Clint's ear, addressing the whole team.

"_Hey guys, I was only here for precautionary reasons anyway so, well, this cafe looks awful inviting. I'll leave the party to you. If you need to find me, I'm at the Java the Hut Cafe. Yes, Tony, I have seen Star Wars. Shut up."_

Clint chuckled at the physicist's wry tone. Easy laughter from various members of the team trickled across the line, and Clint felt the moment lighten. Static crackled in his ear again and the archer lightly tapped his comm to clear it up as Tony's voice came through.

"_Nothing there as far as I can see, Flappy Bird. I think it's clear." _

"If you say so, Iron Pants." Clint could almost see the frown on the face of the other man and the thought cheered him greatly as he proceeded to move forward, sniper rifle loosely held in his hands and a small smile on his face. The top floor balcony of the apartment complex that Clint's target had been on was encouragingly empty, and as the archer neared the building he prepared himself for a long jump that would take him from his last tree onto the rooftop.

"I'm heading in guys. Just on surveillance mode so get your rears in gear and get a move on it. Can't take 'em all alone." Firmly strapping the sniper rifle onto his back again, Clint moved back as far as he could on the branch and gauging the distance got a running start, launching himself from the tree into mid air.

And then it hit him.

Quite literally.

It took several seconds before it really registered– the burning razor-sharp pain of a bullet entering his left shoulder, quickly followed by similar white hot pain in his upper right thigh. Panic overwhelmed Clint as he realized his momentum was lost and he found himself plummeting towards the hard concrete balcony instead of the roof he had hoped for. Wildly grabbing at the roof edge as he passed by, his right hand scraped painfully against the rugged concrete, shredding the surface skin and immediately drawing blood. The empty balcony rushed up to meet him. Landing on the unyielding stone caused his teeth to rattle savagely–sending another massive wave of pain through his wounded leg even as it gave out under his weight and forced him to drop awkwardly into a heavy roll. Clint's mind hardly registered the pain of bones cracking against the hard surface. When he finally rolled to a stop, Clint was a mass of throbbing flesh, and the grayness seeping into his vision complimented the mass of stars dancing across his vision, beckoning him towards unconsciousness. A few seconds and the archer's comm was buzzing in his ear, broken voices filtering through unintelligibly. His mind worked furiously to bring him back to full awareness.

"_Cl-t! you al-ght? Wh-t -appen-d? Clint!"_

It took a while for the archer to find his voice and answer in halting words.

"Sh-ot out o' th-the sky… r-rooftop."

Any further conversation was cut off by the blunt end of a sniper rifle to Clint's temple, effectively sending the half-conscious archer into full unconsciousness. The black-clad man stepped out from behind Clint's now limp form and leaned over to pluck the comm from the agent's ear. Regarding it disdainfully, the man dropped it to the concrete and crushed it under his boot, silencing the staticky voices calling for the archer.

* * *

><p>Clint gasped in shock as the frigid cold water cascaded over his head and shoulders, drenching his shirt, and shook his head to clear his eyes. Blinking several times, the archer took in his surroundings. He was in a dim room, lit by one window off to the left and dull grey-brown walls surrounding him on all sides, their uniformity broken only twice, once by the window, and once more by the simple wooden door directly in front of him–and also by three figures. Bringing the three men into focus, the archer only gave them a passing glance before turning his attention to his aching body. The injuries to his thigh and shoulder burned with pain. Tugging on the ropes that secured him to the stiff chair only sent a searing pain through his broken arm, such that Clint gritted his teeth and tilted his head back. Looking up at the silent men the agent sneered cockily at them, thereby earning himself a painful backhanded slap. Licking the blood off his split lip, Clint turned his stormy gaze up to his captors. His head pounded, and he could feel without having to see that there was dried blood on his right temple where the butt of the gun had knocked him out.<p>

"Hey fellahs."

Another stinging blow on the same cheek, and Clint glowered at his abuser–obviously the leader–and then smiled.

"You're gonna regret that."

The leader snarled and spat in Clint's face before turning around and moving towards the window, gazing–it seemed to the agent–somewhat nervously out the window. Clint smirked a bit and then moved his head to rest it on the back of the chair. Forcing his breathing to sound normal, the archer desperately tried to give the impression that he was fully coherent and completely deadly–like a SHIELD agent always should be. The truth about how he felt however, was a far cry from that. He felt like crying with the pain that assailed his body, but stoically kept his face clear of any discomfort. The room remained silent and the battered Avenger was left to his own thoughts, which seemed to wander further and further with each passing second, thanks to a probable concussion.

_I wish Nat were here. She'd deal with this situation like a boss._

Clint shifted just the slightest bit on the creaky wooden chair, his stomach growling with hunger.

_Maybe I can blackmail Cap into making me one of his great BLTs for me after all of this. I love his BLTs._

As the archer's mind futilely struggled to think of Captain America-blackmail-worthy- information, a commotion awoke several floors down, drawing the attention of all the men in the room, including Clint, who smiled around his split lip.

_Tasha. Cap. The team. Finally._

The leader turned to his captive and Clint saw a momentary flash of fear in the man's dark brown eyes before it was overcome by a deep malice. The bushy brows came down and almost seemed to meet the matching brown beard, and Clint tried hard not to giggle at the absurd image his addled mind gave him. Furiously the leader struck the agent yet again, the ring on his finger leaving a bloody gash on the younger man's lightly stubbled cheek. Clint couldn't help but flinch at the rough treatment. As the man's hand drew back for a fourth blow, Clint's senses abruptly sharpened to a point, his mind fully alert this time. The leader paused and then suddenly pulled his hand back and turned away, his attention diverted by something Clint couldn't see. The archer's blue-grey eyes glittered with vengeance, simultaneously darkening with pain as one of the henchmen moved behind his chair to untie the ropes and yanked the archer to his feet. The world tilted dangerously around him and Clint couldn't stop himself from falling to his knees, breathing heavily as the blood rushed from his head. One of the guards kicked him sharply in the side and the archer doubled up painfully on his hurt leg, pulling his swollen arm close to his chest. The roiling of his stomach kept Clint busy swallowing the bile in his throat and concentrating on the pain in his thigh to keep himself awake. His senses were dulled a little, but he still managed to pick up the sound of footsteps running in the direction of the room he was being held in. Seconds later the door burst open, letting in the familiar figure of star-spangled freedom followed closely by the archer's favorite red-headed assassin.

"Hey, Tasha." Clint's voice was weak and he knew it. Natasha gave him a worried look. Their silent communication was interrupted by one of the guards forcing the archer's head down with the business end of a gun pressed against the back of his skull. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and someone else entered the room.

"Let him go. Now." _Steve._

"You think I will let him live, after what SHIELD did to me? You are wrong. He will die." The leader spoke for the first time, his heavily accented English grating on Clint's nerves. The gun barrel was pressed harder against his head, and the archer drew a shaky breath.

_Nat'll save me. Steve, Tony, Bruce, they wouldn't let me die. Would they?_

Clint breathed heavily, his heart drumming fast and hard against his ribs, the steady beating resounding throughout his body. Time slowed–all he could feel was the cold steel of the gun against his head, and his lungs expanding and contracting with each harsh breath. The archer counted beneath his breath.

_One,_

_Two,_

_Three–_

A gun went off and Clint fell to the floor, breathing raggedly and closing his eyes tightly. The close gunshot sent waves of blaring sound through his already pounding head, disorienting the archer. The sound of punches and bodies hitting the floor filled the room accompanied by a long string of Russian curses flowing from Natasha's mouth as she helped Steve deal with the men. A second later, realizing that he was no longer held at gunpoint Clint shakily got to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. The world spun on its axis again and he nearly fell, only at the last moment grabbing the nearest thing to him, which turned out to be Tony. But the archer's hand slipped on the smooth exterior of the Iron Man suit and as he scrabbled for a secure hold, Tony turned and quickly slid a hand around the archer's waist to support him.

"Whoa, whoa there, Hawkguy. Take it easy. We've got you." Gently easing the agent to the ground, Tony slid up his faceplate and grinned lopsidedly at Clint who gave him a halfhearted smile in return.

"Y-you guys finally got here. Slowpokes. You held up the party." Tony laughed and then stood up, quietly telling Steve that he'd go fetch Bruce and bring him here. The super-soldier nodded, and then crouched down next to Clint and laid a large hand on his uninjured shoulder, offering a supportive touch. Natasha's face was grim as she took one glance at Clint and quickly stepped out of the room, no doubt to check the building for more men. Glancing down at himself, Clint realized he looked terrible–dried blood covered his jacket and pants and his gloves were in tatters from his run-in with the roof, leaving his hands a bloody, acutely sensitive mess. He also noticed however, that his captors–at least they _were_ his captors until about five minutes ago–had had the decency to wrap up his bullet wounds so as to not let him bleed out.

_How thoughtful of them,_ Clint thought distractedly.

Steve moved his hand up to grip the back of Clint's neck with a reassuring warmth that reminded the archer of how Coulson used to do the same. The archer grimaced and quickly quelled the thought. Steve's forehead creased in worry.

"Hey, you all right?"

"No, Cap, I'm not. I was shot. Twice. Don't get all sentimental on me." Clint coughed lightly several times before the cough evolved into something deeper that shook his entire body. Fire erupted in his torso, and he felt a tightness in his chest, seemingly threatening to stop his heart if it squeezed any tighter. His eyes widened in alarm when the coughing wouldn't stop and all the air seemed sucked from his lungs.

_Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe–_

Grey encroached on his vision again but a hand started pounding on his back, jumpstarting his lungs back into service and forcing his body to take in a deep breath of air.

"Calm down Clint, just take a deep breath, there we go. Breathe deeply."

Steve rubbed his back rhythmically, his calm voice coaching the archer back into a regular breathing pattern, and slowing the panicked pitter patter of his heart. Clint took several shaky breaths and rested his forehead on one bent knee. Several seconds later unconsciousness seemed to easily overcome the pain assailing his body. His last memory was of more voices and sounds, along with gentle hands lowering him down to the floor, and calloused fingers brushing across his forehead.

* * *

><p>Roused to consciousness by the incessant sound of beeping, Clint was mildly annoyed before he recognized the sound as something he knew a bit more intimately than he probably should have.<p>

_Heart monitor._

The archer groaned quietly.

"Awww, I'm in a hospital again, aren't I."

"No, you are not in a hospital. You are in the med bay of a SHIELD jet."

Clint started at the sound of Bruce's voice and quickly sat up, before swiftly dropping back again with a groan. Pain spiked through his shoulder and head at the sudden movement and Clint heard the heart monitor speed up as Bruce moved to his bedside, placing a hand on the archer's chest to keep him from sitting up again.

"You were shot twice, you idiot. You don't just get out of bed after that kind of thing happens to you." Bruce's wry smile was not lost on Clint, and just as the archer opened his mouth to answer Natasha walked into the room with Tony close on her heels. The billionaire smirked.

"Well, well, well, hey there, Flappy Bird. Finally awake, eh? Your паук was quite worried." Tony narrowly dodged a hand-thrust to his throat for his comment, and slid behind Bruce, placing the physicist between himself and the red-haired assassin. Clint spoke up from his place on the bed.

"Aw, _Nat_…"

Natasha turned to her injured parter and smiled sweetly as Clint turned a shade paler under her gaze. Bruce quickly moved to intervene, opening his arms wide in a human shield as he stepped between the two assassins.

"Alright, alright. Natasha, feel free to ambush Tony whenever you want, but I forbid you to lay a finger on him–" Here Bruce pointed at Clint, who shrugged innocently. "–until I declare him healthy again. Understand?"

Natasha smiled again, and inclined her head slightly, indicating her cooperation. Tony facepalmed and then muttering something about 'hiding' he quickly exited the room, tossing Clint a salute as he did so. Bruce closed his eyes once muttering 'here we go again' under his breath before opening them again.

"Good. Now, out. Clint still needs to rest."

Natasha smiled and then walking over to Clint whispered something Russian into his ear, and placing a kiss on his cheek strolled out of the room. The archer winced at her words and closed his eyes.

"She's not gonna kill you." Bruce quelled the laughter in his voice out of pity for the agent so obviously despairing on the bed.

"You don't know Natasha like I do." Clint groaned dramatically again. "Well, what the heck, a guy's gotta die sometime. Not a bad way to go though, I suppose." He raised his hands and traced an imaginary banner in the air in front of him. "World's Best Archer Killed by Gorgeous Assassin Chick." The archer sighed again as Bruce smiled.

"Well, let me know what flowers you want for your funeral. Here, take these." The physicist handed a cup of water and two aspirin pills to the archer, who dutifully swallowed them. Clint refused to admit it, but he could hardly keep his eyes open and sleep suddenly sounded particularly appealing, and Bruce was giving him a _you-better-freaking-go-to-sleep-or-I'll-kill-you-myself _look that quelled any urge to fight the fatigue that plagued his body. Clint smiled weakly, and under Bruce's stern gaze pulled the blankets up a bit and huddled down onto the bed. The scientist quirked an eyebrow and cast an approving glance at the archer before stepping out into the hall and tossing a final comment over his shoulder.

"Glad you're safe, Clint."

Clint huffed into the blankets, sarcastically muttering something along the lines of 'I'm glad too'– but the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and a small smile found it's way onto his cut and bruised face.

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><p><em>Well, after almost three months of waiting, here it is. Let me know your thoughts in a review!<em>


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